


Scream

by Ryu_Reikai_Akuma



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Buried Alive, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Graphic Violence, Uncle-Nephew Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2651558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryu_Reikai_Akuma/pseuds/Ryu_Reikai_Akuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times others listened to Thorin and the one time they didn’t hear him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scream

**Author's Note:**

> This should’ve been for Halloween but horror refused to be written by me so, yeah. Thanks to kilifilithorinandco aka archae_ology for the beta. I still don’t understand how English works.

After hours of preparation Thorin was finally left alone. His scalp stung as his hair had been brushed a million times by his attendants and every brush of silk against his skin reminded him of how raw his body was after being scrubbed clean of every speck of dirt. However, none of these dampened his spirit. If anything, Thorin had to force himself to calm down. His time would come soon enough. His wait was over. He would truly be king today.

To occupy himself, Thorin studied the room he was in. It was the king’s chamber, a place he had often found his grandfather in. He recalled playing in the enormous room, hiding under the bed and closet, drawing on wooden surfaces, and demolishing furniture. It had taken many chidings and arguments on the importance of history to convince Thorin that he should keep his mischief confined in the rooms his family lived in, much to the relief of the palace staff and his parents who had grown tired of forcing him away from the latest damage he caused much to his annoyance. As a child Thorin wouldn’t stop crying and screaming. He had always made his wishes known loud and clear and his displeasure had been feared. His stubbornness had been apparent from the start, amusing his parents and grandparents who had loved to indulge him but upset those who had been tasked to take care of him but had had no right to reprimand him. It had taken Thorin some time to learn to ask instead of demand. He had started to understand the concept of putting his some of desires aside and prioritizing others. His mother had once said she regretted having him lose his carefree innocence so soon and to Thorin those days free of concern were his earliest fondest memory he recalled often in summer nights in front of warm hearth in the silence of his own house.

A knock roused Thorin from his reminiscence and an attendant entered, informing him that it was now time for him to go. Thorin took a deep breath and left his room. On the way, soldiers bowed to him deeply. He barely glanced at them but this time his lack of attention wasn’t due to pleasant memory or excitement of today’s event.

To this day, Thorin still felt unsettled when he passed this particular wing of his kingdom. When the strong wind from the north came, Thorin had been here. He had immediately known something was wrong. “Dragon!” He had shouted to Erebor, his voice echoing in the walls of the mountain kingdom, reaching in to the deepest mines. There had been a shocked pause then a frenzy of panicked movements. Thorin had joined the soldiers guarding the barred gate, unafraid despite his lack of experience. His blood had pounded in his ears and his hand on the hilt of his sword had been clammy, but he had remained at the front line.

What happened next had been told often and still made Thorin’s heart shimmer with anger. Banished from home, Thorin, his family and his people had gone through various obstacles to survive. Before, food had been in abundance and Thorin hand only hand to give a word to fill his stomach. After the sack, he had had to scrap for food, to carefully save however little was left. Before, his hands had been roughened only by training. After the attack, his hands had been roughened by hard work of holding heavy hammers and performing menial labors. Thorin had seen too many dwarfs give up on the way, too many surrender to time and difficulties. He refused to be one of them. As a motivation Thorin had tried to see it as a lesson, a test of his character to prove that he was worthy of being part of the Durin line, of one day leading his people. Now he would prove that he had learnt well.

Balin and Dwalin waited for Thorin at the end of a corridor. They lowered their heads slightly at the sight of him-an unusual gesture for old friends but currently required due to the formality of the occasion. As Thorin continued to head toward the throne room with his friends behind him, the dark memory of the dragon receded. Thorin always felt safe around them. They had stood beside him during various battles and always trusted him despite his errors. With them on his side, Thorin knew he could be the king he was prepared to be.

Leadership was a learnt thing. Thorin’s lesson had begun with Smaug and had been tested in Azanulbizar, the first battle Thorin had fought. He had been entrusted with a small troop of his own, the first time he had been entrusted with the role of a leader. While he had still followed orders from more experienced dwarf warriors, he had been responsible for mobilizing them and protecting them. “Du bekar!” Thorin had shouted repeatedly to lead the charge toward the advancing orcs. Balin and Dwalin had been by his side then, tasked with protecting and obeying him. To be completely honest, Thorin still wasn’t sure how they had managed to always keep their eyes on him Adrenaline had rushed in his veins, his mind had focused on surviving his enemies, and authority over others and responsibility had fueled him. He had only seen red. His rampage had only slightly subsided when he had discovered the fate of his grandfather, a shocking reminder of his mortality.

So many had perished in the battle but any doubt Thorin might have had on his leadership had been assuaged by victory because it had been more than a common victory, it had been an evidence of their survivability. They might have lost every possession to a dragon but their strength and spirit remained. Dwarfs of Erebor should never be underestimated. Their triumph in Moria had created hopes of reclaiming Erebor in the hearts of the unconvinced and weary. Thrain had replaced Thror with that hope in his people’s minds. Under his reign, Ered Luin had prospered. Everyone had put their best efforts to develop their new home to prepare their return to Erebor. This very hope had encouraged Thrain to attempt to reclaim Erebor, but hope only wasn’t enough.

Thorin swallowed the memory of his lost father and forced himself to focus on the present. Just outside of the throne room, Fili and Kili waited for Thorin. Thorin smiled at his heirs, his pride. They now wore clothes made of the finest materials and bedecked with the best jewelries from the large vault of Erebor instead of clothes and beads made for durability. Finally Thorin gave them what they deserved, finally he made them proper princes.

Thorin inspected Fili’s appearance one last time before they entered the throne room and nodded in satisfaction when, as expected, he found it flawless. The same couldn’t be said for Kili, however. Thorin shook his head slightly as he tucked wild strands of hair behind Kili’s ears. The lad grinned, not looking the slightest bit guilty, and Thorin gave him an exasperated but fond look.

It had been Thorin’s responsibility to go on the quest when the opportunity had came to him quite unexpectedly. The fact that a wizard had come with his small group of trusted dwarfs gave him confidence. Oh, Thorin had never expected the quest to go easily or smoothly. He had seen the world enough to know that danger could lurk anywhere and he had been proven correct quite immediately by the trolls and then the warg scouts. However, at the same time those threats had shown him that he had indeed selected the right dwarfs and hobbit to go with him. They had shown no fear in the face of danger and faithfully obeyed his orders, their loyalty to him unwavering.

Yet, for all his rallying for the company to fight and not slow down, Thorin hadn’t been able to stop himself from briefly regretting taking his young heirs with him. Before the quest, Fili and Kili had assured him that despite their age they were perfectly capable of following him and Thorin had agreed with them. He had wanted to show them their true home and their birthright, to make them princes of a great kingdom. But, he hadn’t fully prepared himself to lose them. “Kili!” He had shouted in fear as the thunder giants slammed to the rocks, seemingly crushing Kili. Later, once the company had found shelter from the storm, Fili and Kili had tried to make light of the situation by pointing out how he had called Kili’s name when it had been Fili in danger and Thorin had scowled at them angrily in response. Later still, he had kissed Kili roughly to silence his poor attempts at comforting him. It hadn’t helped, driving him to seek peace in Kili’s warmth, completely disregarding what the rest of the company might have thought. His fear was no laughing matter.

That fear was gone now. The door opened and Thorin could hear flutters of movements as his guests turned to watch him enter the throne room. As he walked toward the throne, he noticed familiar faces of relatives and old and new allies. He smiled at his company of loyal dwarfs and Dain who had come to help him in difficult time. His smile to the Bard was a little more forced but Thorin acknowledged his wrongful treatment toward him. Seeing Thranduil among the guests, however, challenged his propriety the most. That was one alliance he had to work hard to reestablish and he still wasn’t sure he could do so.

Thorin had never felt anger and hatred more intense than when he had faced the elf king. It hadn’t been the capture or the way the elfs treated him as a common criminal which had angered Thorin the most. He had never forgotten the betrayal when his people had been in great need, when Thranduil had decided to dishonor their alliance and abandon kindness. There wouldn’t have been as many casualties during the Sack of Erebor and the wandering years which followed it had Mirkwood helped. The dwarfs wouldn’t have suffered so much. And knowing this Thranduil had still made a pricey proposition. “Imrid amrad ursul!” Thorin had shouted, making sure the entire Mirkwood knew his opinion of its king’s betrayal and how he had caused suffering and death yet still dared to negotiate a price for help. He had been dragged away for this, but he had never been more satisfied in his life.

Balin hadn’t approved of Thorin’s action, believing that Thorin’s outburst had sealed their fate. But what had he expected? Had he truly expected Thorin to sell the past and future of Erebor, the casualties during the exile and the prosperity to come to Thranduil? No. To do that would’ve been disrespectful to the memory of those who had died due to Thranduil’s selfishness. No promise of future, of reclaiming of home was worth such insult. When the burglar had defied all odds and found a way for them to escape, Thorin had been very pleased. Against better judgment he had hoped Thranduil would discover their disappearance soon. Let that teach him that the dwarfs would not be so easily defeated, that they learned from their past and would not let history repeat itself.

That was in the past. Now Thorin climbed to stairs leading to the platform where his throne sat, Fili and Kili following closely behind him. He paused in front of the throne, thinking back on everything he had done to reach this moment, every obstacle and every mistake. Thorin turned toward his guests, those who had honored him by coming despite his lapse of insanity, despite him starting a bloody war. For the first time, Thorin felt nervous. He searched disapproval in the sea of faces. He wouldn’t blame any who harbored anger and hatred toward him. After all, he had succumbed to the very thing which had claimed his grandfather and might have been the cause of Smaug’s attack.

It hadn’t been dragon which had threatened Erebor a few weeks ago. Armies of orcs, dwarfs, human, and elves had surrounded the Lonely Mountain, fighting for righteousness. Despite the slim chance to emerge as the victor, Thorin had led his company to fight. He acknowledged now that it had been a mistake to let the situation get that far. He should’ve given the Men their rights, should’ve formed alliance from the start so they could defeat the orcs. But he had been overcome by greed, unwilling to share even a single coin with others, unwilling to listen to reasons. This greed had driven Thorin to enter the battlefield as everyone’s enemy. He had put all his rage into every swing of his weapon, cutting down anyone who dared stood in his way, whether orc, Men, or elves. His Arkenstone had been stolen. He would have it back and not let anyone touch anything else which belonged to him.

He had fought and fought, focused solely on regaining his Arkenstone. He hadn’t noticed how outnumbered he had been. He hadn’t cared until it had been too late. Thorin had frozen as blood was spilt from the bodies of his young heirs. Fili and Kili who were too young for a battle of this scale, who looked up to him despite his flaws, who still stood by him now despite their obvious disapproval of the war, had taken blows meant for him. They had been brought down to their knees, alive but weakened, unable to defend themselves. Seeing easy targets, orcs had raised their weapons, gleeful at the prospect of taking life. Thorin had roared in anguish, his voice heard by all in the battlefield, spurring on his allies, frightening his enemies. That had been the moment he realized the grave mistake he had made, the price he had made others pay for his greed. Thorin had then stood before his barely conscious nephews, finally remembering what he should’ve done, finally remembering that he should’ve been a protector.

Gandalf’s smile put some ease into Thorin’s heart. He lowered his head humbly as his crown was placed upon his head, formally signifying that he was a king. For a moment, Thorin expected protests, but he heard only solemn silence and a glance up showed that indeed only smiles could be found on the faces before him. Smiling in relief, Thorin sat on his throne. His nephews stood on either side of him, smiling as his name was shouted in celebration. It was a scene from a distant memory and it’s now coming true again. Around Thorin, Erebor was as he remembered it to be: the grandest of dwarf kingdoms with pillars which supported a mountain and mines which reached the earth core and visitors of all races coming to pay respect to the King under the Mountain. He nodded and started to address his honorable guests.

Thorin woke with a gasp. He tried to move but his body was bound tightly and cold stones pressed against him from all sides. On his chest, the Arkenstone provided a dim light, showing him where he was and reminding him of what had happened. He wasn’t king. He wasn’t sitting on a throne with a crown on his head. He had held his nephews lifeless bodies in his arms. He had kissed Kili’s dying breath. His company had stood by in silence as Dain poured a bitter potion into his mouth to take his consciousness away so they could deliver the punishment he deserved.

Thorin struggled and shouted for help, his mouth full of blood as he bit his tongue and inner cheeks, his fingernails broke as he clawed himself and the stone, his legs ached and broke as he tried to kick his way to freedom, his lungs burnt from needs for increasingly scarce air, his head bled as he repeatedly slammed it to the stone, hot tears and snot ran down his face, shadow started to creep into his vision.

But his tomb had been sealed. Thorin’s screams went unheard.


End file.
